


Double or Nothing

by stuffandnonsense



Series: Family [2]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-19 20:30:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2401940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffandnonsense/pseuds/stuffandnonsense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crossover with Angel, continuing the plotline of Family.</p><p>This story will take place entirely in LA. It begins immediately following Chapter 38 of Family, and although both stories can stand alone, the intended reading order is in alternate chapters with Family.</p><p>This has been separated out for three reasons: first, I really, really wanted to write a crossover; second, the seriously Angel-averse amongst the Spuffy-shippers can very easily skip it; third, it expands on some not-entirely-necessary plot points, allowing Family to be more focussed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Angel was bringing two coffees to Cordelia’s desk in what had become an afternoon ritual. Her fingers brushed his when she took her mug. A jolt ran through him from the contact and he jerked away, knocking against Cordelia’s mug.

She squawked as hot coffee splashed down her front.

Angel was mesmerised by the sudden appearance of hard nipples beneath her soaked – _silk?_ – blouse.

“You are so paying for the dry cleaning, buster.”

_Definitely silk._

“Hey!” Cordelia half-yelled, slapping at his shoulder.

Angel’s eyes jumped guiltily to her face and far, far away from her breasts.

“Were you just staring at my neck?”

His shoulders dropped imperceptibly with relief. “No!”

Her eyes narrowed. “Have you eaten today?”

Their eyes met. Angel felt another jolt and pulled back – thankfully less clumsily this time. “Yeah,” he said a trifle sullenly.

She watched his face scrunching up into that lost look he seemed to wear so often now. Cordelia hated this. He’d been acting weird – well, weirder – around her ever since he’d freed Lilah’s mystery prisoner. She wished he would just talk to her already. She felt like she was losing her best friend. She needed to start pushing harder.

“Just because you’re looking a little puffy around the face is no reason to starve yourself. I like my blood inside me, thank you very much.” Cordelia finished with a sharp nod. “And stop looking so constipated.”

“I’m puffy?” Angel asked, slightly worried. He refused to dignify the other with any kind of response. “How can I look puffy? My weight hasn’t changed in decades.” He started pulling experimentally at the skin around his jaw. _Was it different than last week? Last month?_

Before Cordelia could respond, the phone rang. Angel dropped his hands to his sides and held them there rigidly.

“Angel Investigations,” she said cheerily. “We help the helpless.”

_“Isn’t it hopeless? Willow said it was hopeless.”_

“Who is this?”

_“Anya Christina Emanuella Jenkins.”_

Cordelia frowned. “You say that like it should mean something.”

_“I’m Xander’s girlfriend. Well … ex now.”_

“Oh!” Cordelia suddenly remembered. “Birds’ nest hair and bordello chic dress at prom, right?”

_“Xander couldn’t pay for everyone’s dress.”_

Cordelia’s mouth dropped open. Angel watched her try and fail to speak for a count of … four. _Not bad._ His lips twitched as he held back a smile. So _Xander_ paid for Cordy’s prom dress? That explained why she’d stopped hating him so much.

“What. Do. You. Want?” Cordelia said in her best imperious voice.

 _“We need your help – well, not_ yours _. You’re physically weak and vapid. So, Angel’s help?”_

Angel was now pressing his lips together to maintain his bland indifference.

Cordelia’s eyebrows were trying to disappear into her hairline.

 _Count of six!_ Angel thought gleefully. _We need to get this girl in the pool, whoever she is._

“And why, pray tell, would he want to do that?” Cordelia was smiling and her tone had gone past glacial and was well on its way to Ice Age.

Angel was actually a little bit scared of that smile – though he would never, ever admit it.

Anya sighed, then continued speaking very slowly as if to a stupid person. _“Because he wouldn’t be helping me. He’d be helping Buffy.”_

Cordelia’s smile grew wider, brighter and more feral. “But of course he would.” She blinked several times. Her knuckles were white where they gripped the phone.

Angel hadn’t spoken to her about his trip to see Buffy yet. This did not bode well.

_“Well, Buffy and Spike.”_

“Spike’s in Sunnydale?” asked Cordelia, just as Angel said, “I am _not_ helping Spike!”

Anya huffed. _“I thought you and Willow still talked!”_

“Not about _Spike_!” Cordelia snapped.

Angel’s hands started to clench and unclench.

_“Well. I suppose that’s not totally surprising. But never mind that. We need help.”_

Cordelia sighed. “It’s not spring. It can’t be another apocalypse.”

_“Oh no! Nothing as serious as that. We just need to stop the Order of Taraka.”_

Angel froze.

“Ew!” Cordelia squealed, remembering bug-dude. “We don’t do bodyguard work!”

_“We have a Slayer. Why would we need bodyguards? What we need is a PI service. Angel does still do that, doesn’t he?”_

“Yes,” Cordy said coldly. “ _We_ still do that.”

Angel’s lips twitched into definitely-not-a-smile.

_“Oh, good.”_

Cordelia sighed. “So, what, you want us to find out who sent the assassins after Buffy?”

_“Angel really doesn’t tell you anything, does he?”_

Angel’s eyes widened a fraction. _This is not going to go well._

“No,” Cordelia said, turning a venomous look on Angel. “Apparently not.”

If he’d been anyone else, he would have been squirming uncomfortably. As it was, he just shrugged, and gave Cordelia what she liked to call ‘deservedly guilty look number four’.

Anya and Angel both said, “They’re after Spike.” They were out of synch and it sounded weirdly echo-y.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “And we care because why?”

 _“Maybe I should just talk to Angel,”_ Anya sighed.

Angel started edging further away from the desk.

Cordelia gave him a death glare as she beckoned him back. “You know what? You’re absolutely right.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. “Don’t you dare think you’re getting away with this,” Cordelia whispered fiercely. “The second you get off that phone, you are telling me _everything_ that happened while you were in Sunnydale. Everything!”

Angel winced.

Cordelia slipped out from behind her desk so that Angel could sit. He took the receiver from her. Her fingers avoided his this time. “Anya? It’s Angel.”

 

\------------------------------------------

 

“Angel seems …,” Fred trailed off.

“Broody?” Wesley suggested.

“Aloof?” Gunn cut in.

“Bone-headed?” Cordelia said brightly.

“I was actually gonna say _sad_ ,” Fred said. “Has something happened?”

Cordelia sighed. “One of Buffy’s friends called for help.” She waved in the general direction of upstairs. “He’s ‘thinking’ about it. For which read broodfest extraordinaire.” She brightened slightly. “But he’s finally spilling about what happened in Sunnydale.”

“And?” Wesley asked eagerly.

“Later. He’s telling me later.”

“Sure he is,” Wesley said, slumping back in his seat.

Cordelia glared at him. “He will,” she said, with confidence she really didn’t feel.

Fred frowned. “So we’re gonna help, right?”

“No,” Cordelia said firmly. “It’s nothing to do with us. Or Buffy, even. It’s Spike’s problem.”

“Who’s Spike?”

“This vamp who dropped in to torture our illustrious leader couple years back,” Gunn said. “Seriously bad dude.”

“Also known as William the Bloody,” Wesley added. “He’s a vicious thug, second only to Angelus.”

“Oh,” Fred said, puzzled. “So how does Angel’s ex come into it?”

Cordelia shrugged. “He’s living with her now, supposedly. She always did have a soft spot for the sartorially challenged.”

“What was the story?” Gunn asked. “Assassins, right?”

“Yeah, some mythic order of demon assassins are trying to kill Spike – they think because he pissed off some _other_ demon who runs a casino here.”

Gunn stiffened.

“But they’re not sure,” Cordelia continued. “And apparently that whole casino thing might have been a set-up anyway? Whatever. We’re not getting involved.”

“Um, why not?” Fred asked. “It’s pretty much what we do. Isn’t it?”

Wesley cleared his throat. “You know, we haven’t actually had a paying gig for a while now….”

Cordelia gaped at him. “You’re not seriously suggesting we _volunteer_ for more Buffy-related brooding, are you?”

“No, no,” Wesley said quickly. “I’m suggesting we get a nice fat paycheck for more Buffy-related brooding. It is Magic Box business, isn’t it? They can hardly object if we charge.” He grinned boyishly. “It might even be tax deductible.”

“What was the name of the demon with the casino again?” Gunn asked, trying his very best to sound like he didn’t care.

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Gunn stared at Angel defiantly. “I think we should do it.”

“ _Why_?”

Gunn sighed. Reluctantly, staring at a point two feet to the left of Angel’s head, he said, “Because if it’s true that Spike burned up all Jenoff’s contracts, I owe him.”

Angel’s eyebrows shot up. “You sold your soul to Jenoff?”

“Didn’t think I had a future back then.” Gunn smiled weakly. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

Angel thought about laughing but didn’t. Part of him got it – Gunn would’ve been, what, sixteen? Seventeen? Young and invincible and fighting the good fight. But another part of him couldn’t believe Gunn didn’t value his soul more – he hated vampires so much he’d calmly killed his turned sister and never mentioned it since. “What’d you sell it for?” Angel asked.

Gunn grimaced. “You don’t wanna know.”

Angel gave Gunn a long look, suddenly feeling the weight of his years. He wondered what Gunn would be like without a soul. “Anyone ever tell you you’ve got self-worth issues?”

Gunn smirked. “Cordelia. More times than I can count.”

Angel nodded slowly. “We’ll take the case.”

Gunn nodded back, and left with a spring in his step.

Angel stared at the door as it closed behind him. Gunn was still so _young_ , with all the resilience that went with it.

Angel decided to call Willow before he did anything else. She, at least, could tell him what the hell was going on over there. While Anya had been forthcoming enough, Angel still couldn’t understand why Spike was there, in Buffy’s house. He was only putting other people in danger. He should have left days ago.

Angel had to look up the phone number for Buffy’s house. He almost never used the phone – he hadn’t even owned one when he lived in Sunnydale – but … it still felt like Buffy’s number was something he should know.

_Why can’t this hurt less?_

Everything was all so uncomfortable and confusing and he kept hoping that if he could just ignore it, it would go away.

Of course, for that to happen, Cordy would have to stop demanding he talk about it.

_Really don’t see that happening any time soon._

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Gunn left Angel’s apartment feeling relieved. He hadn’t thought of Jenoff in … years. He’d almost forgotten the whole thing.

Which was stupid, really. Jenoff would have come calling eventually.

Gunn had always liked to think he didn’t owe anybody anything.

But the older he got, the more people he realised he owed. Then again, they all owed him too. You had to be alone to escape obligations. Angel had taught him that much, if nothing else.

Spike, though….

Gunn wondered if he’d regret killing him once his debt was paid.

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Angel was thrown when a girl whose voice he didn’t recognise answered the phone. Suddenly panicking that he’d misdialled, he tentatively – and without identifying himself – asked for Willow. He was relieved when the mystery girl just said Willow was back at her parents’ place and did he want the number?

He wrote down the number, thanked her absently, and hung up.

Only then did he remember that Willow was gay now and had a girlfriend who lived with her. _Tina? Sarah?_

He dialled again. Willow would explain.

Willow forgot how to speak for a few seconds when she recognised Angel’s voice.

He very nearly hung up.

 _“Hey, Angel,”_ she said finally, a little breathlessly.

“Hey,” he said again.

There was a long, awkward silence.

 _“So, um, how’d you know I was here?”_ Willow asked finally.

“I called Buffy’s first.” Angel winced, trying again to remember the girlfriend’s name. “Your, um, your girlfriend? She gave me the number.”

 _“Oh!”_ Willow said, wanting desperately to ask how Tara sounded, but terrified Angel might ask why she didn’t know already. _“Uh, yeah. I – we – I’m staying here for a while.”_

Angel was shocked. “Are your parents okay?”

 _“Oh, yeah! They’re fine. I’m….”_ Willow scrambled for an excuse. _“I’m housesitting!”_ As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them. Her parents didn’t even have plants. There was no way anyone would ever believe they needed a housesitter.

There was another awkward silence,

Angel considered asking more, but … it was Willow. It was probably some girl thing. And absolutely none of his business.

“Look, Anya called me a few hours ago,” he started.

Willow nearly dropped the phone. _What could Anya have told him?_

“Is Spike really living with Buffy?” he asked, trying really hard not to sound as whiny as he felt.

 _“Yeah,”_ Willow said, weak with relief. Whatever Angel was calling about, it was nothing to do with her.

Angel sighed. He’d really hoped she would start laughing – tell him it was all a big joke.  “And you’re okay with that?” Angel swallowed. _Did that sound a little high-pitched?_

 _“No!”_ Willow said. _“Of course not.”_

A little bit of tension seeped out of Angel’s shoulders.

“They’re not … um … you know. Are they?”

 _“Of course not!”_ Willow nearly screeched, telling herself that whatever they’d done during her forgetting spell wasn’t really-real. _“He has his own bed. I-in the basement.”_

Angel’s shoulders relaxed a little bit more. “But Willow, how? I mean, last I heard, he was still … y’know, eating people.”

_“Oh, yeah…. You remember those commando guys from a couple years ago?”_

“Sure.”

_“They put a chip in his head. He can’t hurt humans anymore or he gets zapped. Like, bleeding from the ears zapped.”_

Angel was stunned – at first. Then he laughed. “Wow. That’s – really?”

Willow nodded – then realised Angel couldn’t see her. _“Yuppers.”_

“Okay,” Angel said slowly. “But if they’re not … and he’s not … that still doesn’t explain how he ended up living with her.”

Willow scowled. _“I don’t really get it either. It was … he was living there before she came back. For Dawn, cause he didn’t have school or a job or anything.”_

“Dawn?” Angel felt sick. After what happened, how could she possibly stand to be around a vampire again?

 _“I thought we could handle it all ourselves, but … I got outvoted.”_ She sounded resigned. _“He was convenient.”_ Then bewildered. _“Dawn seems to like him for some reason.”_

Willow slowly and reluctantly fleshed out and verified what Anya had told him. Angel was both comforted and confused by Willow’s evident dislike and distrust of Spike. He just couldn’t understand how he’d managed to weasel his way in if Buffy’s best friend wasn’t supportive.

Then Willow told him about the fire. Angel couldn’t believe Buffy’d nearly lost the house. And it felt weird even thinking about the tree on the front lawn being gone – it was like an old friend.

“But he – he has to leave! He’s only putting Bu—everyone in danger by staying.”

 _“I know!”_ Willow exclaimed. _“He has this whole ‘oh, I’m all reform-o-vamp’ thing. But if he’d_ really _reformed, he would’ve left as soon as you called us.”_

“Exactly!”

_“Thanks for that, by the way.”_

They basked for a moment in the warm glow of fellow-feeling.

_“So … so you’re gonna help out?”_

“Yeah,” Angel said slowly. “I mean, it’s Buffy, so….”

 _“She’s really lucky to have you – well, not have-you-have-you, but, you know…”_ Willow trailed off awkwardly.

“I guess,” Angel said. “I’d do anything for her.”

This time, the silence was almost cosy.

 _“Oh!”_ Willow said. _“I meant to ask you before, um, if you had any advice? About helping her, you know … reacclimatise, I guess? From hell?”_

“Oh. Well.” Angel really, really didn’t want to talk about this. But it was for Buffy. “It … it took a while before – I wasn’t really myself, not for a long time.”

Willow heaved an internal sigh of relief. Giles was definitely being all over-cautious-guy about Buffy, thinking something might be seriously wrong with her. _As if I would ever let that happen!_ Buffy was just suffering from … a little bit of interdimensional jet lag. _“W-was there anything in particular that helped?”_

“Buffy,” Angel said quietly, closing his eyes in remembrance. “She … she helped a lot just by … by being there.” _Loving me. But that wasn’t enough … not in the end. Not for either one of us._

Willow suddenly saw the romance of it in a way she hadn’t at the time. Angel loved Buffy so much. It was beautiful, really. _“Thanks,”_ she said warmly.

“Thank you,” Angel said quickly. “For, uh, telling me about what’s going on.”

 _“Any time,”_ Willow said. _“A-and give Fred my number if she wants help sourcing that email.”_ She was a little hurt Anya hadn’t asked her to do it – but then again, it was _Anya_.

“Of course,” Angel said. “It was … it was really good talking to you.”

“Yeah,” Willow said, a smile spreading over her face for the first time in days. “Really good talking to you, too.”

Angel gently dropped the receiver into its cradle. _Is it still true that I’d do anything for Buffy? I couldn’t be a man for her when we had the chance. She all but begged me to stay after Joyce died, but I snatched the first excuse she gave me and left._ With a sudden lurch, he realised what it was that had kept him from staying: _Cordy._ It had terrified him when she’d said they were no longer friends, and that was all he’d really been thinking about – even if he hadn’t been able to admit it at the time.

He’d never had a friend before her – he sometimes suspected he was her first, too. They _saw_ each other like no one else. He couldn’t imagine ever having to cope without her.

Buffy might have been his first love, but they’d never been friends. And then she’d died, and he’d got over it.

There was a knock at the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows chronologically from **Chapter 39** of **Family**.

The first thing Angel noticed when they reached the parking lot for Jenoff’s casino was the burned-out shell of Spike’s DeSoto.

“Hey!” Cordelia said, “Isn’t that—”

“Spike really loved that car,” Angel said, a smile ghosting over his lips. “He’s gonna cry when I tell him.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Like you wouldn’t if it was yours?”

Angel looked at her with undisguised horror. “Don’t joke about that.”

Wesley barely suppressed a snort of laughter.

The lot was emptier than Gunn had expected. Then again, it’d been a while since he’d seen the place.

Angel, Gunn, Wesley and Cordelia stood together outside the main entrance. Angel looked around at his team.

“Ready?” Wesley asked.

They nodded, shoulders straightening, weapons at the ready, and walked through the doors.

Angel was slightly disappointed at the lack of reaction. He figured four heavily armed people walking into a casino should garner at least a little gasping. Even among demons.

And especially given the not-so-full status of the casino. It was  _dead_  in there: at most two hundred people, in a place with a capacity of at least a thousand. Very odd.

“Which one’s Jenoff?” Wesley asked quietly.

Gunn pointed his axe towards the mini-balcony, where Jenoff stood, watching them.

“He doesn’t look so tough,” Cordelia said, training her crossbow on him.

Jenoff walked slowly down the stairs. As he descended, various flavours of well-armed and vicious-looking demons began appearing from the edges of the casino.

By the time Jenoff reached the bottom of the stairs, his guards had blocked the team from moving much past the casino doors.

When Jenoff recognised Gunn, his eyes widened. “Mr Gunn. I never expected to see you again.”

Gunn smiled grimly. “Me either. ‘Fraid I can’t say it’s a pleasure.”

“Mind telling me why you and your associates are disrupting my business?” Jenoff asked blandly.

Angel stepped forward. “I hear you're trying to deprive me of a … a family member.”

Jenoff looked confused. “I thought vampires killed their families.”

Angel’s mouth twisted into a wry grimace. “Tried. Coupla times. Didn’t really take.”

Cordelia gave Angel a hard look that he very carefully ignored. She was beginning to regret not taking him up on his offer to hunt Darla down and make sure the bitch was dead.

Jenoff tilted his head. “No soul – not really interested.”

Mini-sunglasses stepped up closer to Jenoff and whispered something in his ear. Jenoff’s eyes widened again. “You’re  _that_  vampire?” He frowned. “I would have thought you’d be the last one to care about tradition.”

“I still stay in on Halloween,” Angel said, almost smiling.  “But this isn’t about me. It’s about Spike.”

Jenoff’s eyes sparked with rage. “The sooner he’s dead, the happier I’ll be.”

“Believe me, I know how you feel,” Angel said. “Really, I do. But a little birdy told me not everyone in your outfit agrees with you about that.”

“What are you talking about?” Jenoff growled.

“Did your employees have contracts with you?” Angel asked.

Jenoff’s eyes narrowed. “Some.”

“You think one of them mighta maybe decided to let the guy who saved his soul escape with his life?”

Jenoff looked almost ill. Mini-Sunglasses started looking around warily.

“How ‘bout I make a deal with you,” Angel said.

Jenoff raised one eyebrow.

“You call off the Order of Taraka – forget whatever problems you have with Spike – and I'll let you live long enough to work out which of your ‘loyal’ employees betrayed you.”

Jenoff’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “Thank you for the information.” He turned his head slightly, towards the demons surrounding them. “Kill ‘em.” He turned on his heel and started walking away.

Cordelia shot a crossbow bolt through his back – right where a human heart would be.

Neither Jenoff nor his bodyguards reacted in the slightest.

“Shouldn’ta done that,” Gunn said.

“Shit,” Cordelia whispered. “Do soul suckers not have hearts?”

“They do!” Wesley hissed. “But they’re six inches lower and on the  _right_.”

“I think you pissed him off,” Angel said.

“What, like you hadn’t already?”

“Oh, shut up,” Wesley snapped. “We’re outnumbered … at least five to one.”

Cordelia sighed. “I really need to get better at the fighting part.”

Then Gunn lopped off an arm mid-punch and the fight was on.

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Fred took another bite of her fish taco.

It had been obscenely easy to trace the emails to the Magic Box.

 _What kind of idiot sets up an automatic forward to their_  work  _account, anyway?_

She probably could’ve figured it out without Willow’s help. But Willow had been real nice over the phone, talking her through it all. She reminded her a lot of herself, before Pylea.

Fred grinned, pleased, as her search for the email address brought her to a mini webpage from the Wolfram and Hart LA Office.

_Lloyd Martin. Human Resources._

Fred had a feeling Angel was going to be flashing his eyebrows in that special I’m-pissed-at-Wolfram-and-Hart way he had.

She sighed. Angel was awful pretty when he was scowling. Pity he was still in love with that Buffy girl in Sunnydale.

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Angel, Gunn and Wesley had formed a back-to-back ring around Cordelia, fighting off the demons with their swords and axes while she kept up a rhythm of shooting and reloading with her crossbow.

She ran out of bolts terrifyingly quickly.

“Bugger,” Wesley said. “We’re still outnumbered.”

Angel was hyper-aware of Gunn’s wheezing breaths and the drip-drip-drip of blood leaking out of Wes’s arm where something had taken a chunk out of it. Cordy was so far untouched, but she stank of desperation and fear.

Angel pivoted towards where Jenoff stood, halfway up the stairs. “Double or nothing!” he shouted, the barest hint of desperation in his voice.

Jenoff stopped, and without turning around, raised one hand. The room fell silent, the guards falling back.

Jenoff turned around to face Angel, naked greed in his eyes. “You offering me your soul?”

“A chance to win it, anyway.”

The others stared at Angel in shock.

Jenoff started walking towards them, suspicion clouding the greed.

“I choose the game,” Angel said quickly. “I win, we all walk outta here and you call off Taraka. You win? You get Spike’s dust and my soul.” Angel smiled. “I’ll even help.”

Cordelia pressed herself against him as they followed Jenoff to one of the gaming tables. “Brilliant stall tactic,” she hissed. “Bought us some time. Now what's the plan?”

Angel nodded toward the table. “This is the plan.”

Cordelia stopped walking, frozen in shock.

The table’s occupants scattered, making room for Jenoff, then joined the crowd gathering to watch the action, fighting with each other to reach the bookies, who were practically drooling in anticipation.

Cordelia shoved her way through the crowd and back to Angel’s side. “ _Really_?” She only barely kept from shouting.

“Really,” he said. “We're gonna win.”

Cordelia was speechless.

“So what’s your game?” Jenoff asked. “Texas Hold ‘Em?” He cocked his head. “Seven Card Stud?”

“How ‘bout a simple cut of the deck?” Angel said. “High card wins.”

Wesley let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. “Are you  _insane_?”

 

\------------------------------------------

 

“Howdy, Lloyd!” Fred said, her grin almost audible.

 _“Hello,”_  a well-oiled voice replied, a trifle taken aback.

“I’m real happy to hear you – thought I’d be talkin’ to your machine. You’re workin’ awful late, aren’t you?”

 _“We are dedicated to our clients here at Wolfram and Hart,”_  he said cautiously.

“Glad to hear it. Now, I heard tell y’all asked the Magic Box out in Sunnydale to retrieve a contract from Jenoff’s casino.” She paused. “I was just wondering why.”

There was a silence in which Fred thought she might have heard a gulp.

_“To whom am I speaking?”_

“Oh, I’m Fred.”

_“Are you with Klein and Gabler?”_

“No, sir.” Fred said, carefully writing down ‘Klein and Gabler’.

_“I will terminate this call immediately if you do not tell me who you are working for.”_

“Oh, I work for Angel Investigations.”

_“Angel Inve— please hold.”_

And then there was piped muzak that Fred thought might possibly be Pearl Jam.

_Guess it really is an evil law firm._

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Angel’s cut of the deck didn’t win.

Cordelia’s fluid movements to immobilise Jenoff and get the axe to Angel were impressive, and Angel really was expecting some kind of crowd reaction when he took Jenoff’s head in one smooth slice.

But instead of gasps of awe, there was a chorus of annoyed grunts and frustrated sighs as the bookies started paying out … in  _Jenoff’s_  favour.

Angel thought it was just plain weird – not to mention a total anti-climax.

Then Jenoff’s head started growing back.

“You think I wouldn’a done this myself if he was that easy to kill?” Gunn growled.

Angel gaped at him. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

“I thought you knew!”

A glare from Wesley silenced them both.

As the guards began circling again, Angel had a sudden flash of inspiration. “So, who else in here owes this guy?” he called out.

It was a gamble – Jenoff couldn’t have picked up many more contracts since last week – but it  _was_  a casino. People must owe him money, too, right?  _And if there really was someone in Jenoff’s crew who had helped Spike before…._

Angel sagged in relief as the crowd surged up, going both over and through the muscle to pull them and Jenoff apart.

Angel and his team backed slowly away from the melee and out the door. No one spoke until they reached Gunn’s truck and Angel’s car.

Gunn was still trying to detach a limb that was stuck on his axe; Cordelia was desperately shaking something wet and sticky out of her hair, doing her utmost to avoid actually touching it; and Wesley was muttering to himself and practically shaking with anger.

He finally exploded when they reached the vehicles. “You are a reckless idiot!” he shouted. “That was dumb luck! Pure dumb luck! We should have died three times over in there!”

“It was at least … successful, I guess,” Cordelia said, before going back to shaking her hair.

Angel frowned. “Yeah … I hear there’s a lot of that going ‘round at Jenoff’s these days.”

Wesley went very still. “You think we had help?”

Angel shrugged. “It was too easy.”

“That wasn’t bluff?” Gunn asked. “Someone on the inside really was helping Spike?”

Angel nodded.

Wesley sighed. Glaring at Gunn, he said, “Just … can we please at least  _discuss_  how to kill the bally thing we’re fighting next time?” He shuddered, transferring his glare to Angel. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack when his head started growing back.”

“I promise, Wes,” Angel said contritely.

“Shouldn’t we find out who it was?” Gunn asked. “That helped us, I mean.”

Cordelia abandoned her unsuccessful attempt to fix her hair and returned her attention fully to the conversation. “They’ll probably be taking over the casino,” she said, shrugging. “Give it a few days; we’ll know.”

 

\------------------------------------------

 

“Can’t you do it?” Angel asked plaintively. “I’m driving. It’ll be safer if you do it.”

Cordelia have him a disbelieving look.

“C’mon! You know how much I hate using that thing.”

“Fine!  _Gramps_ ,” Cordelia snarked, the smile in her eyes gentling the barb. Angel’s reluctance to use the cell phone she’d bought him was a very, very old argument now. “Where is it?”

“In my coat,” Angel said gratefully.

At the next red, she unbuckled and draped herself over the seat to reach his coat in the back.

Angel had almost forgotten quite how much he liked that pair of pants.

It took a chorus of irate honking for him to realise the lights had changed.

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Fred was practically bouncing in her seat by the time the others returned.

“Guess what I got!” she cried, grinning from ear to ear.

Gunn’s face split into a wide, encouraging smile. “You cracked the email?”

Fred’s smile faltered a bit. “Well … Willow helped.”

“That’s wonderful, Fred,” Wesley said. “Who sent it?”

“It came from Wolfram and Hart,” she said, watching Angel to see if he was going to make the face.

He did.

Fred did a little dance inside her head.

“Was it Lilah?” Angel asked darkly.

Fred shook her head, suddenly shy with everyone looking at her. “Some guy in Human Resources called Lloyd Martin. When I asked about the Magic Box and Sunnydale, he thought I was from…” she checked her note, “Klein and Gabler.”

“Who or what are Klein and Gabler?” Gunn asked.

Fred looked around at the rest of them, surprised. “I thought you’d know.”

Angel frowned. “Name’s familiar, but….” He looked over at Wesley, who shrugged.

Cordelia sighed, exasperated. “They’re  _lawyers!_  Jeez, do you guys ever read anything non-demon-related?”

“Uh, no,” Angel said. “Why would we?”

“They’re probably Wolfram and Hart’s biggest competitors for non-magical business. They defended Melanie Moody’s husband when he killed her.”

“Who?” Angel asked.

Cordelia was faced with a sea of blank faces – except Fred, weirdly.

Fred was grinning. “She was in  _Bimbo Brides from Venus_ , right? But I thought her husband was like, ninety, when they got married?”

“Yeah,” Cordelia said slowly. “That husband died. She re-married.”

“Oh,” Fred said, her voice soft and quiet.

“What do B movie stars and their husbands have to do with anything?” Wesley asked.

Cordelia have him a long look. “Thought you didn’t know who she was, Wes?”

Wesley made a show of nonchalantly scratching his neck. “With a title like  _Bimbo Brides from Venus_ , what else could she be?”

Cordelia stared at him, waiting for his innocent face to crack. He blinked a few times, but didn’t break. “Riiiight,” Cordelia said finally. She sighed. “I was hoping one of you might have read a newspaper in the last year – well, clearly not you, Fred. No offense.”

Gunn frowned. “But … why would Klein and Gabler – or Wolfram and Hart, for that matter – be involved in  _this_?”

Cordelia frowned. “Well, it’s Human Resources … maybe good ol’ W&H wanted to hire someone from their competitors who already had a contract with Jenoff.” She looked over at Angel. “Don’t they pretty much require you to sign over your soul?”

Angel’s eyes widened. “That’s brilliant, Cordy.”

“It was my idea! Of course it was brilliant.” Cordelia tossed her hair haughtily. There was a light plop as the string of demon gunk finally came loose and hit the ground.

They all stared at it for a second – no one willing to take the initiative to clean it up – before a silent mutual decision to ignore it.

Fred felt a warm glow inside: for the very first time she felt no guilt at joining in on that decision. Even a few days ago, she would’ve felt she needed to prove her usefulness by cleaning it up. Now she was happy to wallow in the stink and the ...  _okay, maybe it really did need cleaning up_. Fred moved off in search of paper towels and bleach.

“But why ask the Magic Box to do it?” Wesley asked. “Taking a contract from Jenoff seems like the sort of thing Wolfram and Hart would handle in-house, as it were.”

Angel smiled. “Maybe we should go ask someone in Special Projects.”

No one else seemed to have noticed, but Cordelia didn’t like the look of that smile. It was the kind of smile you wear while setting basements on fire and killing all the lawyers. Cordelia shot Angel a concerned look, which he ignored.

“Tomorrow,” Cordelia said quickly and firmly. “We can go  _scare_  the lawyers tomorrow.”

Angel’s face slipped into a more neutral expression. “Sure,” he said. “I guess it’s kinda late now.”

Cordelia went behind her desk and started gathering her things. As she was walking towards the door, she stopped. Her eyes rolled up into her head and her face crumpled into agony while her body began to shake.

“Cordy?” Angel said, worried and already running towards her.

Fred looked up from where she was scrubbing at the floor. “This is what normal visions are like?” she asked cautiously.

Wesley nodded gravely.

Cordelia forced her eyes open as Angel reached her side. “Darla’s coming,” she gasped, before the pain become too much and her body gave out. She let out a whimper of pain before her knees buckled and she dropped unconscious into Angel’s waiting arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be **Chapter 40** of **Family**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows chronologically from **Chapter 40** of **Family**.

Before even opening her eyes, Cordelia knew she wasn’t at home. Her bed was nowhere near this lumpy. And Dennis kept the apartment smelling  _way_  better.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, and saw she was in one of the empty rooms of the Hyperion. One of the faded, mouldy,  _gross_  empty rooms of the Hyperion. But at least the cockroach demons didn’t seem to have been in this one.

Angel was sitting in a chair, watching her.

Cordelia ran her fingertips over the bedspread she was lying on with a shudder of distaste. “None of this has been washed in my lifetime, has it?”

Angel’s brow furrowed. “Uh, probably not,” he said. “Sorry.” He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and took hold of one of her hands.

It felt natural and comforting, which Cordelia found confusing, because neither of them were particularly tactile people. Pulling her hand away to push herself up to a sitting position, she screwed up her face in disgust at the musty smell that had seeped into her hair and clothes. “Ugh. I need a shower.”

Angel’s brain immediately furnished him with a vision of soapy, wet Cordelia. A little too quickly, he said, “I, uh, I thought you’d rather be unconscious in private.”

“Oh,” Cordelia said. “That makes sense.” She paused. “But next time? Somewhere less likely to give me a disease, ‘kay?”

Angel smiled. “Got it. I just … you were unconscious.”

“And now I’m not.” Cordelia flashed him a thousand watt smile. But it didn’t even come close to reaching her eyes. “Moving on.”

Angel was sure there was something she wasn’t telling him. He just hoped it wasn’t more interference from Lilah….

Cordelia let her smile slip. “Darla’s coming.”

“So you said.”

Cordelia shut her eyes, trying to recapture the vision. “She was draining some guy in a bar that makes where Gunn grew up look like Holmby Hills. Definitely Spanish-speaking, so maybe Mexico, maybe further south? Other than that, I got nothing.” Cordelia raised her head slightly to look over at Angel. “Remind me why she’s not dust in the wind?”

Angel’s lips twitched. “Oh, someone told me to stop obsessing. Can’t quite remember who….”

“Before that, dumbass.”

He sighed. “You know why.”

“I really don’t.  _Someone_  won’t talk about it.”

He shifted, making the bed dip. “I….” Then her hip was against his leg and suddenly he couldn’t remember what he was about to say. “She, uh, she knows I’ll kill her if she comes back.”

“Yeah – like  _that_  threat’s still working if I’m getting visions of the bitch.”

“You may have a point.”

“Of course I do.” Cordelia patted his knee. “So … watching me sleep, huh? Like  _that’s_  not creepy at all.”

“You weren't in any danger,” Angel said quietly.

Cordelia frowned. "Why would I be in danger? " She recognised imminent panic on Angel's face. He really didn't like that question. "Okay, what psycho thing did you do that involved watching someone sleep?"

Angel rubbed at his eyes. He’d been thinking about telling Cordelia about this for a while now. It looked like the time had finally arrived. Haltingly, he said, “It's how I lost my soul.”

Cordelia’s eyebrows did that thing where they tried to escape her forehead. “But I thought—”

“Yeah. Everyone does.”

“Wow. That’s … okay, my mind is blown.”

“I didn’t know how to handle caring about something – about some _one_  – when I wasn’t in total control. It terrified me.” Angel closed his hand over Cordelia’s. “It still does.” He gave her a long look.

Cordelia suppressed the urge to smack him. The never-ending Buffy hang-up was getting so very, very old.

“Watching over her when she was asleep….” Angel dipped his head. “It made me feel like I was back in control, just for a little while.”

“Just how often did you watch her sleep?”

“It was ... I wanted to make sure she was okay. Buffy was always so terrified of getting something wrong, of someone getting hurt because she wasn't fast enough, good enough, something. Even when she was sleeping,” Angel said. “She's so….” He started moving his hands, not quite able to find the right words.

Cordelia suspected he was trying to say “small and helpless” without actually saying it.  _Retard._  Cordelia arched one eyebrow. “Buffy has  _superpowers_. Plus a whole gaggle of people who only ever ask her how high they should jump. And her enemies can’t get into her house unless she invites them! It’s tragic for her – really, I get that – but quit trying to justify yourself and tell me How. Often. You. Watched. Her. Sleep.”

Angel shifted around uncomfortably. “Kind of a lot?”

“Stalker.”

Angel looked even more uncomfortable, now with a chaser of guilt. “It’s what I'm good at.”

“Your issues have issues! You do realise that, right?” Cordelia's gaze softened, despite herself. Much as she loved to poke fun at Angel’s guilt routine, she knew the pain part of it was real – at least in his head.

Angel smiled at her.

It was the one Cordelia most treasured, because she didn't think anyone but her ever saw it.  _Certainly not stupid, pity-me Buffy._

“That night,” Angel said, “we’d just lost a fight and we went back to my place, and she … she’d been hurt and scared before, but after … she was at peace. She felt totally safe – I think for the first time since she was called. And  _I did that for her_. It was.…”

“Soul destroying?”

Angel grimaced. “Pretty much.”

“Note to self – don't look trusting while asleep.”

“You know better,” he said darkly.

Cordelia shrugged. “Sure, a girl’s gotta keep a healthy sense of self-preservation. But that doesn’t mean I don’t trust you.”

Angel frowned. “So it really doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it does! Because, seriously, perv much?” She gave a delicate shudder, then smacked his chest lightly with the back of her hand. “And if I ever catch you watching me sleep, you’re in big trouble.”

“I meant that celibacy won’t keep my soul safe.”

“Oh. That.” Cordelia shrugged. “Just keep away from Buffy and we’re good.”

“Jealous?” Angel really hoped he hadn’t sounded too hopeful. Because if she was jealous, that had to mean something, didn’t it?

Cordelia snorted. Somehow she made it seem ladylike. “Hardly. If she wasn’t the Slayer, she’d just be another girl with bad fashion sense and daddy issues.”

“That’s not fair,” Angel said.

Cordelia sighed. “True, though.”

“She’s special.”

“Oh come on, I was there when you were ‘dating’.” Cordelia nearly hit him a second time with her sweeping air quotes. “You know what we used to call you?”

“Salty goodness?”

Cordelia’s jaw dropped. “You did not just say that.”

Angel grinned. Then he started laughing.

“Okay, Chuckles. Yuck it up.” Cordelia started getting out of the bed, forcing Angel to move. “Time for me to go home to my nice, mould-free apartment.”

Suddenly serious, Angel said, “I’m not letting you drive.”

“Fine,” Cordelia said lightly. “ _You_  drive.”

Angel didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved she hadn’t put up more of a fight.

As they were walking towards the door, Cordelia caught Angel jerking his gaze away from her. “Are you staring at my neck again? God! I swear you’d never eat if I didn’t make you. I’m sure the poor little whatevers died happy deaths – no need to get all guilt-ridden about it.”

_Really not your neck I’m staring at…._

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Wesley was about to go home when he noticed Fred alone in the kitchen, making a sandwich.

 _It’s now or never, mate. Now or never._  “Fred?”

She turned. “Oh, hi, Wesley!”

Her smile dazzled him. “I just wanted to ask if you, er, whether you were doing anything on Tuesday night?”

Fred looked slightly abashed. “I’m still not really leaving the hotel much.”

Wesley moved a little further into the kitchen. “No. No, I suppose not.”

“TV’s pretty good on a Tuesday,” she said.

“Yes, yes I suppose it is.”

They stood, just smiling in semi-awkward silence, for a few seconds.

And then suddenly the kitchen was full of people.

Angel was rummaging around in the fridge, a still peaky but loudly complaining Cordelia on his heels.

Gunn had come in right behind them. He’d gone straight to Fred, playfully trying to take a bite out of her sandwich while she giggled and fought him off.

Finally giving in and letting Gunn have half her sandwich, Fred turned back to Wesley. To his horror, there was a brief lull in conversation just as she said, “So, Tuesday?”

Of course everyone heard.

Angel straightened up, holding a bag of blood, and Cordelia’s diatribe came to a full stop. All four of them were staring expectantly at Wesley.

“Oh,” Wesley said, feeling even more embarrassed and awkward. “I, er, I wanted to invite you all over to my place. We, er, we haven’t done that in a while.” He forced himself to smile.

Fred beamed at him. “Ooh, a dinner party!”

Angel looked grateful, and suddenly more relaxed than he had in days. “That’s a great idea. What can I bring?”

Wesley realised Angel hadn’t actually been to his apartment since their falling out last year.  _Maybe we really do need this._  “Oh, uh, wine, maybe?”

Gunn pointed at Angel. “You, me, PlayStation. Gonna kick your ass.”

Wesley smiled, more genuinely this time.

Cordelia walked over to give Wesley’s arm a squeeze. “Thanks, Wes.” She half-turned back to Angel. “Stick it in a travel mug. I want to go home now.”

A few seconds later, Wesley stood alone in the kitchen, not quite sure how asking Fred on a date had turned into hosting an AI dinner party.

_Never it is, then._

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Early the next morning, Gunn and Wesley were on their way to Wolfram and Hart to investigate Fred’s discoveries further. They had decided a surreptitious look at Martin Lloyd’s files would probably be more fruitful than Angel going after Lilah again.

“Why am I in a suit?” Gunn asked plaintively – not for the first time.

Wesley sighed. “Because you need to be unobtrusive.”

“I can be just as sneaky in my regular clothes.”

“Not in a corporate headquarters, you can’t.” Wesley paused. “Be grateful I didn't make you wear tweed.” He gestured at his own suit – which rather gratifyingly had become almost uncomfortably tight around the shoulders. “I think a Highland pattern would suit you admirably.”

“There is a special place in hell for people like you, you know that?”

“I think you have me confused with Angel.”

Gunn chuckled. “You sure anyone’s even gonna be here?” he asked. “It’s  _Saturday_.”

“Wolfram and Hart never sleeps.”

“I thought it was money that never slept.”

Wesley shrugged. “Money. Evil. Lawyers.”

They were both grinning as they approached the front doors of Wolfram and Heart.

"Show time," Gunn said, sobering. He straightened his shoulders, arranged his features into aloof disdain, and shoved his way through the door. He felt downright lawyerly.

A snooty blonde woman intercepted them as they neared the elevators. Even thought she was shorter than both of them, she still managed to create the impression she was looking down. It would have been impressive if they didn't both spend so much time with Cordelia.

“Who are you?” she sneered. "You're not staff here – I don't recognise you."

Gunn and Wesley looked at each other, then back at her.

“That's way above your pay grade, girl,” Gunn said scornfully.

“Now run along,” Wesley added. “Shoo.”

She frowned, completely unused to having her authority challenged. “You still need to sign in. And you need a visitor’s badge to make the elevators work.”

“We really don't,” Wesley said. He inserted the most recent key card Angel had stolen in the elevator control box. A chime sounded and one of the elevator doors opened. “Now step aside.” Wesley stepped smartly around her, creating the impression he'd already forgotten her existence.

Gunn followed, doing his best not to laugh.

As the doors shut behind them, Gunn whispered, “Nice job, Obi-wan. She must be lookin’ for some other droids.”

Wesley sniggered.

 

\------------------------------------------

 

An hour later, Gunn had abandoned his jacket and tie and was lounging on top of Lloyd Martin's desk, reading through his paper files. Wesley – still looking pristine – sat behind the desk going through his computer.

Lloyd Martin was tied up on the floor, and just starting to regain consciousness.

“Cordelia was right,” Wesley said sadly, leaning back in his chair.

“Don’t tell her that,” Gunn warned. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I can’t believe they really were trying to recruit someone from Klein and Gabler whose soul belonged to Jenoff.”

“Aw c’mon, who wouldn’t want a lawyer who wins every case?  _I_  can’t believe Jenoff could even grant something like that.”

“I suspect there’s very little a soul sucker who’s been in business for over a hundred years  _can’t_  do.”

Gunn grunted, and went back to the file he’d been reading. Then he started laughing.

“What?” Wesley asked.

“I know why there was no contract for Nicholas Doe in Jenoff’s box.”

“Why?”

“Because my man Lloyd is just too stupid to live.”

There was a faint whimper from the floor.

“This file right here? It’s got the original  _handwritten_  memo. But it’s a little on the illegible side.”

Gunn flipped through a few more pages, laughing even harder. “But instead of double-checking the name, brainiac here guessed. Few days later, we got ourselves a  _typed_  memo. Goodbye Nick Doe, hello, Mr Modestus Poe.” Gunn shuddered. “His momma must have hated him.”

Wesley chuckled. “Pure luck the contract was destroyed at all, then.” Wesley tsked. “I expect HR will seriously consider terminating Mr Martin if they find out about his incompetence.”

“Hell, yeah,” Gunn said, glancing down at the now fully awake and terrified Lloyd. Gunn slipped off the desk to stand over him and stare.

Wesley let out a low whistle. “I know why they chose an external contractor.”

Gunn stopped intimidating Lloyd Martin and looked up.

“It seems the Vegas branch did not like Jenoff – in fact he’s their biggest competitor – but they couldn’t do anything about it directly, because he had too many friends who are clients  _here_ : a lady senator ... quite a few higher-level demons." Wesley looked up. "That explains why it was so easy to take Jenoff out. I suspect if Spike had kept going much longer, he would have been able to kill him on his own.”

“Aw, man! Not even a little conspiracy? That hurts.”

“Wolfram and Hart’s machinations not enough for you?”

Gunn shrugged. “Hey, if it’d been that dead monk behind it all, it could’ve been not just international but interdimensional! How is that not better?”

“He was an abbot, not a monk. And that Czech mercenary has delusions of grandeur,” Wesley said. “This was just perfectly logical – if somewhat unethical – business.”

“Less fun, though.”

“Mmmm. I’d still like to know why they chose the Magic Box. It certainly wasn’t Lloyd’s idea.”

Wesley leaned around the edge of the desk to look at Lloyd. He appeared to be crying.

Gunn shook his head. “That’s just embarrassing, man. You should be ashamed of yourself.” He moved around the desk to avoid Lloyd hearing him. “Look, Wes, Giles went back to England, right?”

“Yes.” Wesley looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. Then again, he always did when Giles’ name was mentioned.

“And his business partner used to be a demon?”

“What are you getting at?”

“If you were an evil law firm, wouldn't you expect an outfit run by an ex-demon to be on your side?”

“Hmmm,” Wesley said. "I might, at that. They have always sold the full complement of supplies. And it’s been doing much more demon trade the last few months.“

“How do you even know that?”

Wesley grimaced sheepishly. “Giles asked me to keep an eye on things, so I did.”

Gunn’s jaw dropped. “But you hate that guy.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you do what he asks?”

“Yes.”

Gunn shook his head. “You’re nuts.”

Wesley shrugged.

“You know,” Gunn said thoughtfully, “this coulda been a test for the Magic Box. Sure be useful for Wolfram and Hart to have an employee on the Hellmouth.”

“We need to talk to Anya.”

“I call dibs – I have got to meet the girl who can make Cordelia shut up for a count of six.”

“You’re most welcome to her,” Wesley said. “She’s … well, you’ll find out for yourself.”

Raising his voice back above a whisper, Gunn said, “We done here?”

“Yes,” Wesley said. “I believe we are. This has been quite a profitable little exercise, all around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this story is now finished, **Chapter 41** of **Family** will still follow. There may be more of this verse later, but no promises!


End file.
